Baptism
by idearlylovealaugh
Summary: By fire and by water. Ron and Hermione navigate the beginning of their relationship amid grief and uncertainty with the strength of their bond to guide them. Mature.


They had left London five hours ago at noon, the first portkey depositing them in Brussels. They had made five stops overall, the rigours of long-distance portkey travel necessitating a rest of about an hour in each locale. Their last trip from Jakarta had dropped them, heads spinning, directly into the Australian Ministry in Sydney, where they had met with a yawning but indefatigably cheerful Ministry official, still in his jim jams. After greeting them gratefully and asking tactfully few questions about Harry, he had proceeded to brief them on the location of her parents and his government's plan to engineer a meeting so that she could reverse her spellwork. He had apologetically offered them sandwiches, knowing that that it was roughly dinner according to their internal clocks. Shortly after, they found themselves, their bags, and their sandwiches being whisked into a waiting ministry car, deposited at a posh-looking hotel, and almost before she knew it Hermione was showing Ron how to swipe the plastic key card to unlock his room.

"You just wait until you see the green light, then you can turn the handle," she explained automatically, suiting action to word and using her hip to push open the heavy door.

Hermione heard a low whistle from Ron as he followed her in. The room they entered was spacious and stylish, complete with well-appointed sitting area and kitchenette. Two doors led to what she assumed were the bedroom and bathroom while a third door, heavier and bolted, presumably led to her adjoining room. Kingsley had handled all of the arrangements. He had booked two connected rooms and Hermione accepted them without question, thankful to have one less thing to coordinate.

"These rooms are pretty nice," Ron commented, his eyes sweeping the space appreciatively. As he pulled back the slider and ducked his head onto the balcony, Hermione unbolted the connecting door and entered her room, clicking the light on as she went.

The attention required to make all of their portkeys and the blur of traveling to and checking into the hotel hadn't really allowed her the chance to process her emotions, heightened as they were by finally being within reach of her parents after such a turbulent, painful year. She dropped her bag and made her way to the bathroom on shaky had made it this far, but there was still so much to do. The magic she had used on her parents was complex and reversing it even more so. It was possible she wouldn't be able to do it cleanly, if at all. She gripped the edge of the countertop and squeezed her eyes shut as the pressure mounted in her head. She had to admit to herself that she wasn't even sure what complications might arise - she didn't even know if they would remember their time in Australia or revert back to the moment she cast the spell. What would memories of a dual life do to a person? Would it break their minds? Would her actions break their hearts?

"Hermione?"

She jumped at her name and the warm, freckled hand on her shoulder. She looked into the mirror and found Ron looking back at her with a concerned expression.

"I'm fine," she reassured him tiredly as she turned to face him. It was obvious from his expression that he didn't believe her. "It's just hard, being so close," she explained, feeling tears start to press behind her eyes.

"We know where they are," Ron began slowly. "If you want to go there now…"

"No, no," she sighed, "it's half one in the morning, they've long since gone to bed. It would be too much of a shock to wake them now." Her brow furrowed as she looked down at her hands. "I'm going to uproot their lives tomorrow as it is."

"In the _best_ way," Ron stressed, squeezing her shoulder.

She looked up at him gratefully. This trip had been stressful and they probably hadn't even gotten to the most difficult part, yet - she still had to reverse the spell and explain to her parents everything she had done. The anxiety and excitement had been pulling her in every direction at a time that she needed to be sharp and in control.

And Ron had been so… well, perfect, really. He had supported her in the days leading up to the trip, taking over when her emotions overwhelmed her, and, at least as importantly, knowing when to give her a little space to work issues out in her own head, without being hurt or defensive. It was so complicated, going through all this grief and stress together - _together_ together - but it was also comforting and natural and she couldn't imagine doing it without him. He had always been talented at getting her to relax, but something about truly being with him healed her and strengthened her in ways she could never have expected.

"It's bloody strange, being here in the middle of the night when it should hardly be tea," Ron commented, breaking into her thoughts. "Are we s'posed to go to bed?"

"I think I'll shower first, I feel rather grimy from traveling all day. And I suppose it wouldn't hurt to see if it made me feel the least bit sleepy," she added ruefully.

"Ah, right," Ron said hurriedly, turning to retreat from the bathroom. "I'll just head back to mine, then."

Hermione grabbed his arm before she could think too hard about it, causing him to look back at her questioningly.

"You can stay if you like," she blurted out, seeing his eyes widen.

She supposed his surprise was natural, under the circumstances. Though they had been together for over a month and had seen each other in their most nakedly emotional moments, their physical relationship had, out of necessity, progressed rather slowly. The aftermath of war was awful, with broken families grieving and endless hours of reconstruction. Losing Fred was inexpressibly painful, and even in the moments where they were able to surface from that anguish, there was always someone else that needed them.

And there were just so many _people_ at the Burrow. Though they shared the tiny bed in Ron's attic bedroom nearly every night, Harry's cot remained in the room and they could never be entirely sure he wouldn't be sleeping in it at some point in the night. Their explorations together comprised mostly furtive touches in the dark, pleasurable and thrilling but never as much as they both wanted, and a few idyllic stolen hours on a blanket in the far field, a reasonable distance from prying eyes. That afternoon was a piece of heaven, lying topless in the sunlight while they brought each other to bliss with their hands. While she didn't want to make love for the first time under the shadow of the stress of finding her parents, she longed to give more of herself to Ron, to share with him an intimate experience without the constraint of worrying about interruptions.

"Really?" he asked, searching her eyes.

"Really," she answered, trying to let all her love and sincerity show on her face. It had been a long, disorienting day and right now all she wanted to do was to lose herself in Ron, in the strength that their connection offered her.

"Besides," she added, trying to lighten the mood, "I think you could use one."

She could tell that her tone had worked by the spark of mischief in his eyes. "Are you saying I smell?" he asked with mock indignation.

"Everyone smells of something, Ron," she teased. "Even you."

"Of what? Parchment and freshly mown grass?" he countered slyly.

"Something like that," she replied, her cheeks flushing as she remembered the last unspoken scent in her amortentia. She crossed her arms in front of her and drew her shirt up over her head, noticing that the grin on Ron's face had been replaced by a sort of awed look as she reached behind her back to unclasp her bra.

Turning so that her back faced Ron, she popped the button of her jeans and began to shimmy out of them along with her knickers. She was struck again with the thought that this would be the first time she would be completely naked in front of Ron and fought the urge to stop or cover herself.

Feeling a lingering self-consciousness she stepped quickly into the stall and twisted the faucet, turning to see if Ron had followed. She felt a surge of confidence at the sight of his face, which still looked pleasantly dazed. She licked her lips as she watched him yank his shirt over his head, exposing his lean, freckled torso. The muscles in his forearms flexed as he unbuttoned his trousers, then slid them off with his pants in one motion. Bizarrely she felt as though it would be rude to stare at his cock, acquainted though she had become with it through touch, so she turned to face the spray as he entered the shower behind her, pulling shut the heavy glass door. She closed her eyes and let the hot water beat on her face and shoulders, letting the drumming drown out the anxious thoughts spinning in her head.

She tipped her head to the side as a hand brushed the mass of curls off her shoulder, lips pressing down on her exposed skin. She sighed in pleasure as his hands slid around to her stomach while he continued to kiss her neck.

His large freckled hands skimmed up her body to cup her breasts, thumbs grazing the hardened nipples. She could feel every ridge in his thumbprints as they brushed agonizingly, deliciously slowly across the sensitive flesh. She gasped as he tweaked them gently, legs suddenly feeling shaky.

Ron pulled her backwards until his upper back hit the shower wall, bracing himself against it. "Lean on me," he murmured in her ear as he continued to caress her. She let her weight sag against his broad chest as she lost herself in the sensation of Ron's hands on her, feeling his hardness throbbing against her lower back.

The hot water rained down on her as he slowly snaked his hand down her torso, slipping into the curly patch of hair between her legs. Slowly he began circling her aching clit, his movements more confident now than the first times he had touched her. Instead of worry and fear, her mind was filled with the feel and the smell of him as he stroked her firmly, one hand still playing with her breast. There were times, in the showers of the girl's dormitory, that she had touched herself like this, thinking of him. But this - this was so much better, so much more intense and emotional. She was still getting used to the physical part of their relationship, the feeling of being touched by him in ways and places that no one had ever touched her before. She had never realized how all-consuming it could be, that it was possible to feel such beautiful, painful want.

She tipped her head to the side and looked up, parting her lips in a silent invitation. He bent his head to press his open mouth to hers, kissing her with languid passion. She moaned into him as her hips undulated with the movements of his hand, the sensation building unbearably. He slowly pressed his fingers into her, cock twitching against her backside, and the thought of how it might feel pressing into her instead was all it took to make her fall apart in his arms, shaking and crying out as her climax washed over her.

He held her up gently as she caught her breath, her entire body feeling like a heartbeat. Gods, she felt so _free_ , so free and so in love with this man.

She whirled in his arms, dropping to her knees as gently as she could manage. Ron looked surprised, but before he could say anything she fixed him with a scorching look. She hadn't done this yet, but right now, with her body still throbbing and the blood still thumping in her ears, it was the only thing she wanted to do. She gripped his thighs as she considered him for a moment, finally face to face with the impressive evidence of his desire for her. It was beautiful, or rather, it was beautiful because it was a part of him.

Slowly she bent her head forward to wrap her lips around him, ripping a strangled groan from his chest. She quickly realized she wasn't going to be able to fit all of him, so she concentrating on swirling her tongue around the tip, massaging it's silky ridges. She wrapped one hand around his shaft as she let him slip in and out of her mouth, stroking him they way he had showed her. She looked up to see his reaction, watching the chords of his neck strain as he dropped his head back against the tile, raking a hand through his drenched hair. He was gorgeous, all taut muscle and freckled skin, droplets of water cutting paths down the hard planes of his body. His lean stomach flexed as one hand dropped to rest lightly on her water-soaked curls.

She could feel the muscles of his thigh tighten under his fingertips, his hips thrusting almost imperceptibly toward her in time with the slurred words of love and lust dropping rhythmically from his lips. She drew him as deeply into her mouth as she could and sucked, sensing he was close. His entire body seemed to tense and then he let go, growling her name. As he released Hermione felt a surge of satisfaction that she could coax such a reaction from him, reveling in sharing such an intimate act with him.

He pulled her up from her knees, wrapping his long arms around her and hugging her tightly to his chest.

"Gods, 'Ermione," he murmured into her hair, voice rough. "That was... was…"

"Good?" she offered shyly.

"Bloody brilliant," he insisted. He worked his fingers into her wet curls, gently rubbing her scalp. "Love you so much."

She sighed contentedly, never tiring of hearing those words from his mouth. "I love you, too."

Later, much later - after they had washed each other while exchanging gentle kisses and caresses, after they had toweled off with the hotel's luxurious linens, after they had curled up in her room's bed together, never for a moment considering that they might sleep anywhere else - she rested in his arms, marveling at the lightness she felt. Nothing had changed, she knew, not really - she still faced a monumental task the next day, with the same capacity for failure and heartbreak. Yet she found that she could resist dwelling on those possibilities, and ground herself in the love and strength she and Ron gave each other so freely. Finally her mind was at peace.


End file.
